by Jane Linfoot
At least by wrestling control of the cooking he’d finally managed to bring her to a standstill; although, the way she was stretched out on the rug now, chin propped on one hand, shirt buttons being tested to destruction where they pulled across her chest, wasn’t doing anything for the cramped conditions in his groin area. Not as if he hadn’t seen it all before. The shower image flashed past again followed by a whole stream of others, each more explicit than the one before. As a strictly one-time-only guy not up for revisits he’d assumed the excitement would have waned but somehow knowing what was underneath those clothes and how fricking amazing it was made it all the worse.
She turned and gave him the benefit of her newly-applied smile. ‘I don’t see you complaining that we worked out the route and the best camera shots in record time, although all those pretty villages made the job easy. You have to admit the choice of area was spot on, even if it was my choice not yours.’ Perfectly slicked lips, maybe, but that smirk was way too superior. ‘I’ll get the script ideas drafted as soon as I get back to the hotel, and that’s the first programme sorted.’ Bringing him back to earth with a bang – or more to the point, without a bang – as she eased off her shoes and wiggled her toes.
‘I can think of better ways to spend an evening.’ Taking a swig of beer, he grabbed the bread rolls and stifled the accompanying grin before it escaped. No way was he going to be accused of innuendo.
‘No doubt.’
Given the disgusted-of-Brighton eye-roll she shot him, he might as well have let the grin go, and chucked in a quip about those bright-pink toe-nails for good measure. But the way she let her beer bottle rest on her lips, all rosy and newly glossed, then moved it to nestle in the hollow between her breasts… Now that was just plain mean.
Seems like she’d got over him crashing in with both feet about her dead father. He shuddered to think how that had happened. So much hurt in her eyes back there, all he’d wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, shield her from the world. Instead, she’d thrown herself into more work, dragging him with her, consenting or otherwise. Understandable. He’d done the same with his training when his mother walked.
‘The sausages smell amazing by the way. Fab to see you’re so relaxed with the cooking, although men never can resist a fire; I reckon you’re all latent pyromaniacs.’ She waggled her beer bottle idly. ‘I’m useless in the kitchen. Three-ingredient easy chocolate brownies are the one culinary trick this pony does. You make them with chocolate spread, but even that’s a bit hit and miss.’
Obviously unaware that resisting her brand of flame was taking every ounce of his self-control.
‘Good to hear you aren’t entirely perfect then.’ And disappointing to think he’d only got to cook because she didn’t want to. Splitting open a roll, he added a sausage, then picked up the frying pan. ‘Onions?’
‘My favourite. Lots please.’
He shovelled in as many as he could, grabbed a plate and a serviette, then handed it to her. ‘There you go, brown bread, grilled low-fat sausages, nice and healthy. Watch you don’t get grease on your Jimmy Wangs.’
‘My what?’
‘Your shoes.’
Her mouth twitched. ‘You mean Choos.’
‘Do I?’
A smile spread across her face. ‘Jimmy Choos are the shoes, Vera Wang does wedding dresses.’
‘Whatever.’ He wasn’t sure it was that funny.
‘You must’ve heard of them or you wouldn’t have got mixed up. Stacks of my friends walked down the aisle wearing Vera Wang.’ Bryony stopped, hot dog halfway to her mouth. ‘Her dresses are amazing.’ Drifting into silence, she stared dreamily into the middle distance.
A big expanse of sea, albeit blue and glittering in the evening sun, some sky, the occasional seagull. Nothing to hold her attention for that long as far as he could see.
‘What’s this? Ms Decidedly-Single mooning at the memory of wedding trains? And how many mates make a stack? Sounds like at least the population of Guilford. Do I take it your friends have been signing up for a lifetime of compromise and misery en-masse?’
He bit into a sausage.
‘Pretty much. Soon I’ll be the only single one around, apart from Cressy, obviously, who’s so wild she doesn’t count.’ Bryony gave a shrug. ‘All my own fault though. I introduced most of them to their partners. Even Helen from admin chose Vera Wang when she married Phil from sound.’
‘So you get off on playing the matchmaker?’ Why did it not surprise him? He didn’t mean to let the accompanying guffaw of disgust escape. ‘That has to be the ultimate in controlling behaviour, even for you. Couldn’t you have trusted your friends to make their own choices?’
He was aware of her eyes widening in displeasure, but this time he didn’t give a damn.
‘What? Most people benefit from a nudge in the right direction, and I can’t help intuitively knowing who goes well with who.’
‘If you say so.’ It wasn’t worth an argument, but he tossed in a last warning. ‘So long as you don’t start playing your manipulation games with me.’ Though privately he railed at the thought that right now she was the one woman he did want to play games with.
‘Excuse me?’ Spluttering, she choked on a mouthful. ‘As it happens, I don’t have any free friends left, but if I did I’d hardly advise them to hook up with anyone as arrogant and domineering as you, who is entirely incapable of compromise.’
He wrinkled his nose. Took a moment before he bowled the slow return, along with a knowing smile. ‘You do realise you could be describing yourself there.’ He gritted his teeth, watched her swallow the last of her food and crumple up her serviette. ‘Another hot dog?’
‘No thanks.’ She got up, smoothed down her jeans, glanced at her watch. ‘It’s later than I realised, I should be heading to the hotel.’ Bending down she whipped up the rug she’d been lying on and began to fold it into meticulous squares. ‘If that’s okay with you?’
That snippy tone showing he’d overstepped the mark, big-time.
‘No need to iron it.’ And he was only stooping to sarcasm because he was kicking himself here. Stupid of him, anyway, to imagine they’d be having an easy evening, watching the sun go down.
She reached into the van to stow away the rug, then scooping up her shoes, she perched on the edge of the van floor to put them on. Seeing her there, framed by the open side doorway, with only the odd crumple in her jeans to show for a whole day on the road, her gloss and polish made a jarring contrast against the faded backdrop of the van. No idea how the hell he’d ever thought this trip was going to work out. He silently cursed his personal manager Dan for bludgeoning him into it in the first place. No doubt Dan had his own ulterior motives for keeping Jackson occupied, a.k.a. out of the way. Dan knowing how Jackson was desperate to get back to training with the team again, thinking it would take his mind off the whole question of his long-term fitness, and give his body another few weeks to recover before he threw it back into the rigors of full-time training. Right now, Jackson was completely blocking the twinges of pain in his knee he knew he shouldn’t be getting.
Better get on and clear up. He’d take the royalty back to her hotel in town then come back along the coast and find a quiet place to park up for the night. He crouched down to sort out the barbie.
‘Ouch.’ He picked up the tray, and dropped it again swiftly when it burned him.
Aware from the denim-clad legs beside his chin that Bryony had arrived. No doubt here to supervise.
‘You’ll probably need to pour water on that.’
‘Thanks for stating the bleeding obvious.’ He sucked the side of his finger, and counted to ten.
She was brandishing a plastic bag of dirty plates and utensils.
‘Anything else over here need collecting?’ Towering over him, she looked down on him imperiously, sounding snappy. ‘The washing up…not your department but it still needs doing.’
Holy crap. Eye roll. Count to ten. He took in the close-up detail of h
er shoes.
Scarlet suede? With beads? For a camping expedition? That pretty much said it all.
This was going to be a hell of a long trip.
Chapter 17
As Bryony emerged from the hotel next morning, pulling her bag on wheels behind her, the startling sun made her already banging head thump harder. So much for going to a hotel for a good night’s sleep. Shading her eyes against the glare with her hand, she scanned the car park. Her gaze skimmed across the row of sleek cars and jolted to a halt at the dull bulk of Jackson’s van, bike on the rack on the back, and Jackson. Legs long and oh-so-sexy in frayed denims that had to be almost as old as the vehicle, shoulder resting nonchalantly against the van side, arms and feet crossed, and tanned face pointed to the sky. Even with his eyes closed, his huge attitude radiated across the car park. Had thinking about that man kept her awake all night?
‘Oh my.’ She ignored the echoing jolt in her stomach and shook her head, then wished she hadn’t when it reverberated. She dragged herself together as she crossed the gravel, forcing her mouth into what she hoped was a breezy smile. ‘Morning, you!’
‘Morning.’ He turned, eased his shoulder away from the van, his face breaking into a lazy grin. ‘What happened? You might have ironed your knickers, but what about the rest of you?’
She started slightly at the greeting. So like Jackson not to pull his punches, but she’d make him go all the way with his explanation, just to see what insults he would come out with here. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m the one who slept in a van, went for an early morning bike ride, then got washed in the sea, yet you’re the one who looks rough. Have you seen the dark circles under your eyes? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.’
What the…? A girl could do without that kind of honesty first thing in the morning. ‘When I next need a compliment remind me not to come to you.’ Arrogant and observant? The guy was beyond a pain. And she’d been hoping to keep her sleepless night a secret. ‘I wound up in the room next to the rugby team, who by the sound of it were taking on anyone and everyone in an all-night bonk-fest.’ True enough, and there had been some noise along the corridor, but that wasn’t why she’d been awake.
‘You weren’t in there with them, were you?’ He all but dived down her throat, an anxious furrow hewn between his eyebrows, then, seeing her dismissive eye roll, he backed off with an almost embarrassed shrug. ‘I can tell you haven’t slept.’
Thanks again, Jackson.
‘I might as well have been in there, the amount of sleep I got. Plus they were still partying downstairs this morning, so I gave breakfast a miss.’ Hoping he’d buy the excuse and not assume he was the main reason for the bags under her eyes, although with a guy as arrogant as this you never could tell.
‘Why risk a night in a comfy hotel that might turn you into your grandmother when you can sleep in a camper and stay youthful?’ One flash of an extra cheeky grin. ‘It’s bad to skip meals, by the way – you’ll get a headache.’ His x-ray stare bored straight into her skull, as if he had personally examined her pulsing, painful brain. ‘Just goes to show you can’t rely on luxurious hotels for peace and quiet and a good night. Whereas in my van, which you shunned, I enjoyed all of those.’
And got the smug-man-of-the-morning award too.
‘Yes, but you do have sea-weed in your hair…’ She leaned in, being extra careful not to nudge his body, and twisted a piece out of his curls, just to make her point. ‘…and salt rime on your cheeks, and I don’t mind betting your iPad’s all out of power.’ She sent him a jubilant smirk. If he was hell-bent on playing top-trumps, she’d get him every time.
‘If you must know, my iPad gave up twenty minutes into Finding Nemo.’ He gave a sniff of disgust. ‘The van battery isn’t its strongest point, so I didn’t want to plug the charger in.’
She hesitated for a moment. A dodgy battery on the van? One huge inward groan to that, but it would have to wait for later. The rest she could do something about immediately. Turning, she put a hand on his arm.
‘Come on. Grab your iPad and charger, we’re going in.’
‘In where?’
‘Into the hotel, of course. I know I checked out, but the room’s officially mine ’til ten.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘That means we’ve got an hour. I’ll sweet-talk the guy on the front desk, and we’ll get the room back.’
‘The hotel won’t like it.’ He frowned, and gave a shrug. ‘Thanks for the thought, but I can live without my iPad.’
‘I’m sure you can. What I can’t live with is sitting next to you all day when you smell like the beach.’ One glance to measure his resistance, and his frown told her she needed to up the pressure, so she shortened her tone. ‘Either use my room, or I’ll rent you one by the hour. I’m sure a stunt like that would have the Jackson Gale scandal-reporters flocking.’
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, drummed his fingers on the van door as he weighed up the options, then slowly a smile spread right across his face.
‘You’re inviting me up to your room then? For breakfast and more. Who’d have thought?’ His voice, low and velvety resonated across the space between them. ‘I knew you would. I just didn’t think you’d crack this soon.’
Something about the laid-back confidence of the guy drove her wild. The way he tilted his head then raised one eyebrow pushed Bryony’s interior temperature gauge straight into the red zone, and out the other side. How could anyone make you this angry and yet make you ache for them at the same time? Aching? What the hell was she thinking?
She snorted in a breath, and tossed her head. No way was she going to play into his hands by acting like he was serious. She shut out the pneumatic drill in her head, and sent him the most condescending smirk she could muster.
‘Nice try, Jackson.’
The sarcasm brought her the satisfaction of seeing his other eyebrow jump skywards in surprise to join the first, and gave her the boost she needed to smooth ahead. She spun around, and, dragging her case behind her, set off back towards the hotel. ‘Come on, Tiger. Let’s go and see what we can sort out at reception.’
The excitement of heading up to a hotel room with Ms Starchy wasn’t lost on Jackson, even if it was ten in the morning and completely unfounded. Although Bryony was apparently wilting from sleep deprivation, the electricity zapping between them in the confines of the lift was as undeniable as it was uncomfortable. He stood in silence beside her, eyes tight shut to close out the view of her bra-strap inside the open neck of her shirt, trying desperately not to breathe in the clean scent of morning woman. Even so, by the time they reached the first floor, the pictures flashing through his brain were disconcerting enough to make him wish he’d taken the stairs. Nothing clean about those. It was a great relief when the lift doors slid open.
‘Room 313, it’s just along here.’ Even her brusque, no-nonsense instructions sounded sexy.
She had to be feeling it too, given the way her chin was in right the air and she was fixedly avoiding eye contact as they made their way along the corridor. And ‘yay!’ to the way those heels made her bum wiggle when she strode out like that, dragging her case on wheels behind her. Holy crap, he was having to run to keep up here.
By the time he pushed into the room she was already unzipping her case.
‘So here we are then.’ As he dropped his iPad onto the bed, he took in the dark blue silky bedspread, the bed neatly remade by Bryony, and the expensive wallpaper. It would be waste of a room, not to sleep. Waste of a room not to… ‘I’m guessing you’re stretching the expenses claim with this place?’
Still bending over her case, that accusation yanked her gaze up to his face. One more accidental view of cream satin bra-cups that sent blood rushing to his groin. Budgets weren’t the only things that were stretching here.
Drawing her laptop out of her case, she slid it onto the desk. ‘Not all budget hotels are dives, Jackson; you just need to know what you’re booking that’s all.’ Her lips were dark-pink th
is morning, and she was gently biting the lower one.
‘And you nabbed a room with your own ironing board?’ He tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice as he assessed his surroundings. There it was, propped neatly against the voluminous wardrobe, beside a big shiny iron.
‘I had housekeeping bring it up. They usually will if you ask them nicely.’ One small, yet smug smile from her, acknowledging the triumph this was, as she ran her palms over her those perfectly smooth jeans of hers.
She jumped slightly as a muffled crash resonated from the room next door, then someone started singing on the other side of the wall. Slurry, male, with a bad memory for words by the sound of it.
‘Rugby club?’ Crap. The thought of drunken guys partying in the room right next to her had the back of his neck prickling.
She nodded. ‘Now do you understand why I look like death?’
‘That reminds me…paracetamol.’ He dropped his hand in his pocket and flipped a pack of tablets onto the table. ‘Two, straight away, with water will help your head.’ Keeping his mind right away from the other packets his fingers had been toying with in his pocket. Nothing to do with condom Rik’s present, these were definitely his size. God knows why he’d brought them, other than his eternal optimism.
‘Thanks for that.’ She poured herself a glass of water, and the column of her throat bumped as she swallowed the tablets. Then she swung around to face him. ‘Right, well, the bathroom’s that way…’ One glossy pink nail pointed to a panelled door, but her eyes had somehow slipped downwards and were now firmly locked onto his groin.
Talk about superglue.
Okay. Nice view, but still it left him helpless. Nothing he could do here under scrutiny like this but rise to the occasion. Big style.
And there she was, standing like she’d turned to stone, except she was still biting her lip. And there he was standing like he’d turned to stone too, but in quite a different way.
How the hell was he going to get out of this? Thinking about it, there was only one logical way out of this, for both of them. And in that case the first move was down to him and it involved clamping his mouth over hers. Maybe his optimism with the condoms was less ridiculous than he’d thought. High risk strategy, but what the hell, he was going to go for it. He took a deep breath…
